


Stories For Monday

by DoctorFitzy (KittooningMalijah)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, domestic AU, volunteers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6844915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittooningMalijah/pseuds/DoctorFitzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz had been working with the same group of teachers on his days off for almost three years - the first class he volunteered in was in their last year there before they went to the middle school down the street - and he was used to dealing with a few other people in the copy room and walking through the halls, but Grant Ward was something he wasn’t prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They Think That You're Crazy

          The moment Leo stepped into the office, he directed his attention to the sign-in sheet and filled out the line of information before scanning the rest of the page for one specific name. If he was there first, he could easily secure the good copy machine for the majority of the morning, and that would make waking up an hour early entirely worth it. Of course, the same instant his eyes found that familiar combination of letters was the instant he heard the voice that went along with the name from behind him.

          “Oh, hey, Leo. You’re here early. Did you skip breakfast?”

          Grant Ward had started spending his days in fourth grade classrooms at the beginning of the school year, and in the eight months since then, he’d become the closest thing Leo had to an arch enemy. His family was filthy rich, which meant that he didn’t have an actual, paying job to worry about outside of his volunteer work. He could spend every day helping out around his usual classroom if he wanted to, and he usually did. It wouldn’t have been so much of a problem if he wasn’t stuck in that hallway every day.

          Three years ago, when he’d first started setting aside some time to get out of the apartment and volunteer, the Scotsman had been working in the same first grade classroom he was still devoting his time to. Now, nearly half of those same kids were in the classroom that _Grant_  spent five days a week in. He couldn’t even visit that hallway for lunch with the one volunteer in the building he could actually stand to spend more than an hour at a time with, at least not without all but welcoming his enemy into that time that’s supposed to be peaceful.

          With a sigh, he set the pen down and took a visitor’s badge to clip it to the collar of his shirt. He only had to deal with this conversation for a few minutes, and then he could take a breather while getting his own stack of paperwork for the morning. “I _did_  skip breakfast, actually, but I can just have a bigger lunch to make up for it -- you know how much I like to spend my time here.”

          He got a hum in response, and there were a few moments when he was actually hopeful, almost _sure_  he was going to be able to get out of the smaller room without having to make any kind of polite conversation. And then he heard that voice from behind him even while walking down toward the first and second grade hallway.

          “You know, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You really shouldn’t go without it.” Of course, there’s no way to escape it even while stopping at the drinking fountain for some water in an attempt to shake the tail he’d apparently acquired. “I think I have an extra protein bar in the truck you need something to tide you over for the morning.”

          Leo grunted while straightening up again, shaking his head and wiping the water from his mouth with the back of his hand. If he wanted some disgusting, tasteless, dry bar of whatever his nemesis had to offer, he would have bought a box of them himself. What he _wanted_  was another two hours of sleep, a decent meal, and at least one victory before noon, but it didn’t look like he was going to get any of it. “I’m going to put my lunch in the classroom. Go and get the good copy machine -- I know you want to.”

          He didn’t have to turn around to know that he was alone in a matter of seconds. At least now he could do what he needed to do without worrying about an annoyance over his shoulder at every turn. It really wasn’t normally this much of an issue -- the hovering, the vague concern -- but he supposed it could have something to do with the fact that he’d, very uncharacteristically, skipped a meal. Even arch enemies knew a thing or two about habits.

          By the time he was actually back near the front of the school and the office, stack of worksheets to copy into class sets in hand, Leo had the same annoyance walking beside him again, chattering and trying to make conversation despite the clear tension in the air. It wasn’t like their competition was a secret -- he was pretty sure even some of the teachers placed bets on their weekly point totals at this point -- and not even Grant Ward could possibly be so oblivious as to not understand when he was getting the cold shoulder, and yet...

          “I found an extra Snickers bar in my glove box. I was going to save it for the next time you won a week, but if you skipped breakfast, I know you need it.” The words were entirely calm, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he wanted to laugh, the Scot might have shouted right there in the middle of the hallway. “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

          He was already reaching for the candy bar when they stepped through the doorway to the copy room, both of them stopping right where they were. In all of their competition and rivalry, it was easy to forget that they weren’t the only two volunteers in the building, and that, while they were constantly racing to be the first to get things done, people were working around them. That was likely exactly how Jemma Simmons got to the good copy machine without either of them even realizing she had arrived that morning.

          “Oh, hello, boys. Happy Monday.”

* * *

 

          There was a neat stack of simple, colorful flashcards on the table while Leo put chairs on either side of the small desk. He had a few minutes before the first graders would be back from their music lesson, and then he’d be in charge of a small group for almost an hour. Technically, his _small group_ was only two students, but he’d yet to have a group any bigger than that in all the years he had been volunteering. He had the advanced group -- the handful of students in the grade that were beyond the reading level that they needed to reach by the end of the year. While everyone else was learning the alphabet, his group worked on simple words that would make it easy to read simple children’s books.

          In his small group, there was Lucas Meyer -- an energetic, excitable kid who learned more by doing than listening -- and Samantha Hughes -- who was quieter, and small for her age, but picked up on new information in a matter of minutes. They had two very different ways of learning, but he’d managed to come up with a few games that made it easier for both of them, and it kept them distracted, away from the three groups in the classroom that were focusing on their own work.

          As soon as the door opened, Leo was ambushed by the two children he’d been expecting, each one finding an arm to tug on to get his attention. If it wasn’t something he had to get used to three days a week, he would have flinched, at the very least, or tried to shake them off. After the months he spent learning so much about each of them, it was almost impossible for them to catch him by surprise.

          “Okay, okay, sit down so we can get started, yeah? If we can get through all the cards, I’ll see if we can play a game if we have time left.” Pulling up a third chair for himself, he let himself grin while grabbing the pile to sort through them, searching for a few of the easier ones to start them off with. Even if his group was slightly more advanced than everyone else their age, and arguably at a third grade reading level, they still weren’t quite at the right level to read many words longer than three or four letters.

          _Dog. Stop. Cat. Big. Doll. Boy. Sun._

It was very typical of the time he spent with them, reading simple words off of the thick cards, and the time passed quickly, leaving them with almost a full ten minutes with nothing else on the planned agenda. He could either fill the extra time with a game to help their reading skill, or do something else fun, and he was leaning toward the former until Lucas spoke up from one side of him.

          “Mister Leo? Do you have a _girlfriend_?”

          The question was one he got asked at least three times a month, and he supposed it could be worse, but he doubted it would ever actually stop. If he didn’t give an answer, and quickly, he’d be stuck in an endless loop of questions that would get them more than a little bit sidetracked. He was supposed to keep them focused on _reading_  and _learning_ , not his relationship status. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

          He almost thought that was the end of it, starting to put the flashcards back in the colorful box they came in when Sam was the one to speak up instead. “Why not?”

          A first grade classroom was _not_  the place to have this conversation, and Leo doubted he could find a way to get out of it without upsetting someone. His only real goal was to somehow navigate the questions without somehow welcoming more. “There’s not a girl that I care about that much, so I don’t have a girlfriend. Maybe I will one day, but not right now. Someone like a girlfriend should be someone that you care about a lot, so I don’t have one right now.”

          Almost immediately, the conversation turned back to their actual work, and he had never been more relieved that their brains still moved from topic to topic so quickly. For the moment, he’d averted a crisis, and that was better than any victory would ever be.

* * *

 

          “I still think this entire thing is completely ridiculous.” Jemma slid the wrapped sandwich across the bright green table in the back of the classroom, shaking her head with a small frown.Eating lunch in the room where she spent the rest of her day twice a week was almost part of the routine, especially on Mondays when all three of them were around. The lecture was just as regular, a weekly check to make sure they hadn’t completely lost their minds while interacting with children _and_  keeping track of their immature betting system. “You know, the points don’t determine who’s better at any of this -- they’re not at all important.”

          The sandwich bounced off of Leo’s fingers while he stared at her, skidding to a stop a few inches away. He sat in silence for a long moment, likely trying to figure out when she’d lost her mind, and she let out a sigh while waiting for him to speak up.

          “Not important? _Not important_?” There he went. “Jemma, these points are the only things standing between me and a happy weekend. You _know_ what’s at stake here. I _have_  to win this week -- I _cannot_  lose to Grant Ward three weeks in a row.”

          She had to stop for a second to do the math in her head, frowning with confusion and unwrapping her own sandwich in front of her. “I hadn’t realized it’s been three weeks. Then again, I don’t see why you’d make any _complaints_ regarding this loss -- considering the stakes, it sounds like a win to me.”

          Leo slid a plastic container of fruit salad into the middle of the table with a frown, shaking his head and choosing to focus on his sandwich for a few moments instead of facing her. His silence would have been concerning if not for the topic at hand -- technically, they’d all agreed to never talk about it while actually volunteering, even just during their lunch, but they weren’t actually _talking_  about it. It was just polite, lunchtime chat. “I’m just going to focus on trying to win this week, yeah? That’s something we can worry about far in the further.”

          The realization hit her suddenly, and Jemma stared over at him with widened eyes. “Oh my god. You’ve never-?”

          She was cut off by the sound of the door to the classroom opening and a pointed look from the Scotsman sitting across from her. If there was any time to drop the topic, it was while Grant was getting himself settled into third chair at the end of the table.

          “I got a hug from Delia, but no questions. What’s the current tally at?”

          Jemma opened to the right page in her day planner, shaking her head and looking over the numbers she’d calculated. Even if she did think it was ridiculous, neither of them were organized enough to keep track of an official tally every week, and that left the job to her. “That puts you at two, and Leo has four.”

          He frowned, leaning over to get a better look at the tally marks on her paper. “Where did Leo get four points?”

          The Scot laughed while using a plastic fork to stab a piece of watermelon, shaking his head before looking over at the taller man seated next to him. “Lucas and Sam asked me if I have a girlfriend. I didn’t lie.”

          Grant huffed before grabbing his own plastic utensil to get his own bite of fruit. “Fine, but I’m still going to win the week -- I’ve got points coming tomorrow and Thursday that you’ll have to make up for.” All he got in response was a roll of the scientists’ eyes, and he ate the grape on his fork before speaking again. “Mark my words, Leopold Fitz, I will win three weeks in a row.”

* * *

 

          Leo sat on the copy room’s wooden table, eating from a small back of trail mix while his _least favorite person_  used the machine a few feet away to copy an extra set of the day’s worksheets. Technically, they Scotsman was supposed to be grabbing extra paper, but Grant was _conveniently_  blocking the cupboard he needed, and he still had fifteen minutes until his class was in from recess.

          “You’re not supposed to eat in here, you know.”

          “Bite me, Grant.”

          They fell into comfortable silence for a few minutes, and he dropped his empty bag from his snack into the garbage can while hopping back down of the table with a faint smile. He could only keep quiet for so long, especially with nothing to snack on to keep himself occupied. Considering the very _real_ possibility that the Scot would lose their competition for the third week in a row, they might as well have a discussion about it. “So... do you have anything planned to celebrate your upcoming victory?”

          There was another short pause before Grant added another fresh copy to his growing pile, letting his eyes drift over to the other man in the room with him. “You think I’m going to win three weeks in a row?”

          Giving a small shrug of his shoulders, Leo stepped forward to stand on the other side of the copy machine, not quite making eye contact. “You’ve won three weeks in a row plenty of times before. It wouldn’t surprise me if you did it again.”

          “What? Like you’ve never _lost_  three weeks in a row before?”

          It was a loaded question with about three different meanings, and there was only one way to answer it without lying. Unfortunately, it still took him a few moments to come up with the right way to put it. “I’m not that consistent.”

          Silence fell between them again, until Grant had his stack of papers and was ready to move out of the copy room for the rest of the day, and then it was he who interrupted the quiet. When he actually spoke, they were only separated by the machine between them, the room otherwise entirely silent. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go easy on you.”

* * *

 

          The sun was bright enough that he had to use his hand to create enough shade so that he could see, but Leo didn’t mind at all. He was too busy watching the last child from his class get into their parent’s car to care about the fact that he could barely see. From what he could tell, Jemma had already gone inside to sign out, but Grant still had two nine year olds begging for his attention. That meant there were three more points in his favor, and he was that much closer to a win for the week -- and _not_  losing to Grant Ward three weeks in a row.


	2. No One Left In Neverland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one day a week that Jemma isn’t around, Leo has to be his own buffer - he and Grant also have to keep track of the weekly points on their own. And that’s all between running around and actually being a helpful volunteer.

          Wednesdays were easily the worst days of Leo’s week. At least, on all the other days he was at the school, he had Jemma to look forward to. He didn’t have that if she was at the lab and on the other side of town. On this Wednesday in particular, there was a pleasant change. He’d gotten up with his alarm set at a reasonable hour, had had a decent, filling breakfast, and had arrived a few minutes early. The Scotsman hadn’t even put any thought into the day’s list of names on the sign-in sheet while taking a visitor’s badge from the small basket on the counter top by the clipboard.

          The only thing he let himself put any thought into was the work he had to do before the day started -- Mr. Stark would likely have the day’s worksheet set out for copies to be made, pencils to be sharpened, flashcards to be sorted so that he could actually be productive during the time he would spend with Lucas and Samantha later that morning. The _furthest_ thing from his mind was how many points he had earned in the span of less than five minutes. His mind was focused in the way it only was in optimal conditions, firing on all cylinders to come up with a way to get everything done in record time.

          It wasn’t until he was in the copy room, using the manual pencil sharpener there and humming quietly to himself, that his focus shifted from work to the fact that there was a very frantic sounding person in the next room over. Of course, _the next room over_  was the front office, where everyone was required to sign in and out if their name wasn’t on the pay roll, and the _person_ he was hearing came with a very familiar voice that Leo would recognize anywhere, no matter the tone.

          “I’m late, I’m late, I’m late...” Moments after he heard the words, he saw Grant appear in the doorway, a clear frown in place. “You win this round, _Leopold Fitz_ , but mark my words, I _will_  catch up and win the week.”

* * *

 

          “One hug from Delia, no questions. How did the rest of your morning go?”

          Leo looked up from where he was adding his own points from the morning to the notebook Jemma had passed onto him the day before during their lunch hour at the lab while Grant sat down next to him on the bench in the far corner of the lunch room. Even with how his own morning had gone, he was barely ahead of Grant’s own score for the week, and if he didn’t keep the lead, there was no way he’d manage to gain it again in only two days.

          “You mean after my sweeping victory in the copy room?” Even if he was wary of counting their scores, he could still be smug about the fact that, when it came to that day on its own, he was the clear winner. “Lucas is home sick, so no questions at least -- but I did still get a hug. After your points from my not being here yesterday, I have ten, and you have eight.” His lead wasn’t a big one, but it was enough that he still felt at least a little confident. Leo might not win the week, but at least Wednesday wasn’t completely miserable. “Maybe I’ll win this week, after all.”

          He glanced over again just in time to see Grant roll his eyes and shake his head, very clearly resisting the urge to make a comment and instead reaching into his paper lunch bag. “We’ll see. I grabbed a Snickers bar for you again, and I dug a bag of pretzels out of my glove box. Where’s the fruit?”

          At the question, the Scotsman paused. It had become completely routine for him to bring a bowl of fruit every day to share during lunch, but he and Jemma had finished off what he had the day before, and he’d been stuck at the lab so late that he hadn’t had time to go buy more.

          “No fruit today. I’ll bring some next week. I have cookies?”

          Grant’s answering grimace was more than enough of a response, though he did shake his head for good measure. “No, thank you. I don’t need to put that much sugar into my body. I can wait until next week for you to bring food to share.”

          Rolling his eyes, Leo set the bag of cookies between them regardless. “Fine, don’t have any, but they’re there if you change your mind. I’ll make up for not having any fruit next week, but that doesn’t mean I can’t share _something_.”

          It was almost a struggle to keep from frowning through their entire meal -- Leo with his various snack foods, and Grant with his sandwich and trail mix. Usually,even though Jemma wasn’t present on Wednesdays, it was never _unpleasant_ , mostly because it was the only time they actually had, just the two of them, in the middle of the week. It was like a traditional precursor to their weekend plans that, under normal circumstances, was filled with chatter up until their last free seconds before they had to be back in their respective classrooms.

          This Wednesday, things were very different, and they spent the meal in silence.

* * *

 

          The copy room that same afternoon wasn’t much better. Leo was already there when Grant arrived, sorting through piles of colored paper to find the right shade of yellow for the month’s schedule -- including early release days, full days off, and small, time sensitive announcements. While the Scottish scientist had a task to focus on, the other man had no logical reason for being there. He had made all the copies he needed to that morning, and there was no schedule to print out for his own class, and he still had a bit of free time before he actually had anything to do.

          After their tense lunch, it was almost unreasonable to be alone in a room together, but it was the last chance they’d have before Jemma did the final tally count on Friday, and there was something he needed to discuss with his best friend.

          He approached slowly, leaning against the table so that he wouldn’t be so tall and intimidating. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? There was a part of him that the smaller man found intimidating, and because of that, he was still so determined to win their ridiculous competition. It was never supposed to mean so much, never supposed to be something that determined a large part of their relationship. Yet, here they were, about to have a conversation that could determine their future in the copy room of an elementary school.

          “Leo, we need to talk.”

          It was clear that his choice of words wasn’t a wise one just by how the Scotsman’s shoulders tensed, and Grant took a deep breath. Starting an argument was the last thing he wanted to do, especially with the topic as sensitive as it was, but they had to talk about it, _before_ Friday -- even if they _were_  in an elementary school copy room and couldn’t actually say the words at the risk of getting scolded and escorted off the small campus. “Do you even _want_ me to win three weeks?”

          He had to wait for a response, watching his best friend’s shoulders rise and fall with a careful breath. “Have I done something to make you think otherwise?”

          Where should he start? With the apparent determination to keep Grant’s winning streak at two? With the fact that furthering their weekend activities beyond what was required of their bet had never been on the table? It was clear from his behavior that Leo didn’t want any part of what he was offering. “You _really_  don’t want me to win this week.”

          The words were simple, and he was sure that every possible meaning was clear, especially in the context of what he couldn’t say bluntly. There were too many little ears in the building, too many _administrative_  ears, and without the excuse from their weekly competition, it seemed he would be spending his weekends alone. He would be _away_ from the person he cared about the most.

          “That’s not what it is.”

          “Then explain it to me.” Grant didn’t mean to raise his voice, at least not as much as he did, but with how things were between them, he needed _answers_ , and there were only so many ways to get them. “Because I’m just looking at what you’re showing me and that’s the only conclusion I can come to. You don’t want me to win a third week in a row, because you don’t want what comes with that.”

          “No-”

          “If that’s the case, just _tell me_ , because-”

          “ _Grant_ -”

          “-I’m a grown up, Leo, you can hit me with the truth and I’ll be fine-”

          “I have something called _pride_ , Grant.” The words cut through the already loud discussion they’d been attempting to have, the scientist’s accent seeming to heighten the effect. “I don’t care what does or doesn’t come from it, but I don’t want to _lose_  again.”

          There was a beat of silence, then another, then a third, and Grant tried to catch up with what the words meant. _That_  was why he’d been awake all night, caught up in his own head and then sleeping through his alarm? Because of the Scot’s _pride_?

          “Wow.” He couldn’t keep the harsh tone out of his voice, then, taking a small step forward from the table. He could be bigger that way, less vulnerable to every shift of the mood in the room. “It’s a dumb _bet_ , Leo, not a championship trophy. Your pride’s not gonna get hurt because I beat you to the good copy machine more often than the first graders ask about your relationship. If it really means _that much_  to you, then forget it. I’ll throw the week. _Forget the points_  -- they don’t matter anymore, _you_  pick who wins this week. Get the final tally from Jemma, or don’t, but... if you decide that your pride is really that important, don’t bother coming up with what you want for a prize. It’s completely up to you where we go from here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my class.”

* * *

 

          It had taken more than a few minutes for Leo to leave the copy room himself, stack of goldenrod schedules in hand, and his only mission for the rest of the day was to _avoid_  the one person he’d grown to enjoy spending time with the most.

          He didn’t see Grant at all until the end of the day, and even then it was outside, in front of the school, with three whole grades spread out on the grass between them. The only reason he was any close than that was because fourth grade -- and the class that the older man helped out in -- was right by the front door of the school. While he walked through the door, they didn’t make eye contact, and he was fairly certain that Grant never even looked in his direction.


	3. Tell Me Where You Wanna Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a normal Friday, there’s always a mad scramble for points, but this week was anything but normal. How can there be a winner if both of the competitors are entirely apathetic?

          “Whatever is going on between the two of you, you need to fix it.”

          Grant hadn’t even settled into his seat before Jemma said the words, frowning with confusion. He knew that she and Leo both worked at the same lab -- they were _partners_  there -- and there was no telling how much she had been told about their fight earlier in the week, but he’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to actually discuss it until it was resolved. It was hard enough to handle with only himself and Leo involved. “If you think I’m the only one in the wrong, then you clearly have only heard one side of things.”

          She let out a short scoff while shaking her head, aiming a pointed frown in his direction. “I haven’t heard _any_ side of things. He wasn’t at the lab yesterday, and he hasn’t been answering my phone calls. I’m _assuming_ something happened -- you just proved me right by trying to defend yourself. What even happens around here when I’m not around to babysit?”

          With a sigh, he shook his head while dropping his gaze to the surface of the table. He refused to accept being treated like a child who needed to be watched at all times, but arguing that wouldn’t solve anything. There was an actual problem to be solved -- and he had to prove that he was justified.

          “He told you about our bet, obviously -- about what happens if someone wins three weeks in a row? -- and he’s trying his hardest so that I _don’t_  do that, as if his _pride_  is more important than our relationship. You know, the only times I ever see him are _here_  and Friday nights. You see my own boyfriend more than I do!”

          If the door hadn’t been closed, there were likely students and teachers in the hallway that would have heard the outburst, but Grant didn’t even have to time to look over his shoulder and check before she was speaking again.

          “Wait a second.” He turned just in time to catch the tail end of Jemma’s own frown, staying quiet while she continued. “I know that the winner of each week chooses what to do on Friday night and the loser has to pay for it -- it’s cute, in a _you guys_  way. I _also_  know that three weeks in a row means that you get a little bit more than a Friday. How is prioritizing his personal comfort over your joint sex life such a terrible thing?”

          It took a long moment before he could even try to respond, processing everything she was implying. When Grant _could_  finally speak again, his confusion was clear. “Wait -- who said anything about _sex_? The deal is that, in the case of either of us winning three weeks in a row, the winner gets the entire weekend, and yes, that could potentially include an _over night_ aspect, but I wouldn’t ever force Leo into something he isn’t comfortable with. Except for maybe laser tag.” He paused for another moment, fixing his gaze on the table again before mumbling his next words. “I just want to spend a bit more time with him...”

          He could hear the soft sigh before he felt Jemma’s hand on his arm. As kind as the gesture was, he didn’t want _comfort_ , he wanted this entire situation to be _fixed_.

          “Have you _told him_  that? All I’ve heard is that three weeks potentially means something that he isn’t ready for. If that’s all you want out of it, make sure he knows. Honestly, with how little you two communicate, I don’t understand how you find anything to talk about at all.”

          Grant frowned, not looking up from the bright green tabletop while he gave himself time to think. He’d never really looked at it like that -- made a passing joke or two, yes, but never with the intention of pushing things that far without talking about it first. It was something too big to just go in making assumptions.

          Before he could come up with anything actually close to a response, his attention was drawn to the sound of Jemma opening her paper lunch bag. He didn’t have to wait long to know what she was doing, as it was only a matter of seconds before a small plastic container and a fork were set in front of him. “He won’t answer my calls, but he texted this morning, asked me to pick that up for you. I found one with a lot of watermelon -- Leo said they’re your favorite.”

         He hesitated for a moment, carefully pulling off the plastic lid to look in at the batch of fresh fruit. Whatever miscommunication they’d had, he desperately hoped they could work through it.

 

* * *

 

 

          When Leo walked into the copy room, he wasn’t at all surprised to see his boyfriend standing behind the good machine. Normally, if they were both there, he’d wait for the better machine and pass the time with conversation, but with how they’d parted only a few days before, that wasn’t something he wanted to partake in. Instead, he settled for the slower machine, not saying a word while typing in the four digit code and lining the sheets up in the tray. If he were to try for small talk and say the wrong thing, they’d only end up fighting again, and that was the last thing the Scot wanted when he was trying to think through the _last_  fight they’d gotten into. And being in the room where it happened certainly didn’t help.

          He could hear the familiar sound of Grant’s sigh before he spoke, the rhythmic noise from the copy machine filling the rest of the air between them. “Look, Leo, I know things are rough between us right now, but I need you to let me say something.” The scientist opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off -- clearly, his boyfriend was going to explain himself whether Leo liked it or not. “I stand by what I said before -- it’s entirely up to you who wins this week. Forget about the points, they don’t matter. I understand, now, that we might not have the same idea of what _three weeks_  means, and I want to make sure you know that I never meant to pressure you into anything. You don’t have to say anything now, just tell me later.

          “Jemma says we don’t communicate, but we both know she’s wrong. We just have our own way of doing it because we’re not so great at talking about things directly. No matter what you decide, I don’t want to break up -- I _don’t_  -- and we can still have Friday night together. I just need to know one thing. If you decide that I have won this week, then even Jemma’s wrong, and we _are_ ready to take that step, but if you decide that you win, then I’ll back off a bit.”

          As if on cue, the copy machine went silent just as Grant did, and he grabbed the still warm stack of papers with a small nod of his head. He’d said all that he needed to, and the next move was _all_  Leo’s.

 

* * *

 

 

          Waiting outside the school’s main office, Leo took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. He knew exactly how big the choice he had to make was, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to take it back. What he _didn’t_ know was what he was actually going to decide to do.

          On the one hand, he could declare himself the winner and enjoy the Friday night out. No one could really blame him for that -- it was familiar, and safe, and everything that his other option wasn’t. If he decided to declare Grant the winner, his weekend would be far more complicated. It could potentially involve more than one night in his boyfriend’s bed, and there were too many things that scared him about that fact on its own, not even considering the _consequences_  of something like that. If _that_  was the choice he went with, there was no telling where things would go from there. Hopefully, seeing the final tally for the week would make his decision easier.

          When he looked up at the sound of a door swinging open, he saw Jemma walking toward him with a small smile on her face and a piece of paper in hand. This was it -- the tallies on that paper would declare the technical winner for the week, and then Leo would have to make his own decision. Of course, the points didn’t mean anything to him. No matter who won the bet itself, his choice was the deciding factor. _His_  choice would be the one that determined the effect the weekend would have on his love life.

          The Scotsman hesitated before taking the offered paper from her, letting out a careful breath when he saw the week’s numeric results. _It doesn’t mean anything_ , he had to remind himself again. _I don’t have to decide based on this_. He tried to nod while lifting his gaze, managing to meet his friend’s eyes for a moment before she spoke.

          “Is this good or bad?”

          At her question, Leo shook his head and took another slow breath, dropping his eyes to the paper again to double check the count. It wasn’t the real final result, and he knew that, but it still left a strange feeling in his stomach. “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

 

          A tiny scrap of paper shouldn’t feel like a hundred pound weight in his pocket, but it did. Basing his own winner on those numbers would create a vastly different outcome than choosing the opposite, and Leo had to take a deep breath while walking across the parking lot.

          After dating Grant Ward for over three months, he knew the truck before even looking at the license plate -- he knew about the dent in the front bumper from when Grant’s brother had been in town, he knew about the bent trailer hitch that had been fixed twice but never stayed that way, he knew about the twisted seat belt that wouldn’t ever fit comfortably ever his shoulder, he knew about the stain in the metal of one of the tires’ rims from a drink that had spilled but was never cleaned up. He knew that truck better than he knew his own apartment, and he knew even more about the man who drove it. Despite how little they actually saw each other, they didn’t _need_  any more time than they had -- there were so many things that had been shared when they _had_  to rush on their Friday nights, when the clock was ticking too quickly toward midnight when the bet would expire and they had no way to justify another hour of time. Despite all of his doubts and fears and worries about the decision he was making, he knew in that moment what it would be.

          With a smile, Leo climbed up into the passenger’s seat of the cab, forgetting entirely about the table in his pocket while pulling the twisted seat belt down so that he could safely buckle in before turning to face his boyfriend next to him. “So, how do you plan on using the weekend to celebrate your _victory_?”


	4. Wherever It Goes, I'm All In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, losing isn’t so bad. At least, not when the consolation prize is almost better than victory itself.

          With the volume of the game around them, it was almost a miracle Leo could hear anything else at all. There was the music, the shouting of everyone else, the loud beeps and buzzes of the game vests, and flashing lights coming from every which direction, but he wasn’t paying attention to any of it. _He_  was only able to hear his own labored breathing and his heart pounding in his ears, and the lights didn’t even register behind closed eyelids.

          It was no surprise at all that they’d managed to find a secluded spot, away from where everyone else was running around, and had spent the better part of ten minutes not paying attention to the game of laser tag. Their plastic guns were hanging off their vests, only a few inches off the ground, and neither of them had scored a single point, even on each other. With his boyfriend’s lips at his neck, the Scotsman couldn’t bringing himself to care in the slightest. He was perfectly happy with the current arrangement, and he didn’t foresee changing it any time soon.

          Of course, all too soon, Grant stepped back with a plain smirk, the smug expression only growing into something more like a grin when the shorter man let out a sound of complaint. They hadn’t meant to get so carried away, they really hadn’t, but it was all too easy to get caught up in each other after the week they’d had. There had been too much tension and uncertainty surrounding them over the course of just a few days, and working that tension out would be the most important part of the weekend.

          “Come back...” Leo only managed the short whine before taking control of the situation himself, standing on his toes and reaching up to pull a familiar set of lips down to his. If they were going to waste time kissing, they were going to do it _properly_. The next step in their relationship wasn’t one he wanted to take in the dark corner of a laser tag arena, but five minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to score the points needed for a victory -- besides, if that week had taught him anything, it was that losing could be better than winning.

* * *

 

          After laser tag and pizza, Grant had taken it upon himself to get them to his apartment as quickly as possible. _Technically_ , the plan was to turn on a movie, and let the night progress from there -- _if_  the night progressed from there. Even if there was confirmation that they were ready for it, there was no pressure to get around to things any time soon. They could take things slow for as long as they needed or wanted to. If things didn’t progress that night, they knew it wasn’t anything to worry about, and if things _did_  go that far, there was no question of whether or not they both wanted it.

          With the television on, and something playing mostly for noise so that there would be no moments of extended silence, they both settled into the leather cushions of the couch comfortably, Leo practically in his boyfriend’s lap. There was a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, but it went entirely untouched, and, by the end of the movie, the couch was empty.

* * *

 

          Even with the morning light streaming in from the window, Leo did his best to stay asleep for as long as he possibly could. He was reluctant to blink his eyes open, just awake enough to give his body the order to lean into the arm wrapped around him. All he found with the action was a solid chest, and then the arm around him grew tighter, keeping him in place. Just the night before, the muscles that he was able to use as a pillow had been used to hold him close in a very different way -- a way that had left him feeling a pleasant sort of ache. He was tired, he could say that much, but, right where he was, curled up and warm and as close to Grant as he was going to get without repeating the very things that had left him so tired to begin with, it was the most comfortable he’d ever been.

          “Morning...”

          The groggy voice in his ear only made the Scot smile, somehow managing to relax even further despite how impossible it seemed. He did his best to respond, though in his state, his reply was just as drowsy and slurred. “Is waking up in bed with me not enough to call it a _good_  morning...?”

          A quiet chuckled was quickly followed by a kiss to the top of his head, and he received a hum in answer only a few moments later. “I want to call it a _great_  morning, but it doesn’t sound as nice... and i’m still sleepy.”

          They both laughed, then, low enough as to not disturb their morning of happiness, but enough to be heard. It was nicer than Leo expected it to be -- _the morning after_ \-- and if he wasn’t so comfortable and happy with the idea of wasting the rest of the weekend right there in that position, he’d be asking questions. Wasn’t something like that, the first clear moment after giving one’s body and soul over to someone else, supposed to be awkward or uneasy? Or at least _get_  that way? They’d been there, awake and tangled up in each other, for at least a few minutes, but he wasn’t feeling _any_ of that.

          Slowly, he rolled himself over, lifting his chin just enough to meet the warm, brown gaze that was already fixed on him. Something about Grant’s eyes in that moment made him pause, taking the time to memorize every detail he could. Maybe it was a trick of the light, the sun’s early morning rays bouncing off just the right combination of objects and filtering expertly through the curtains to make those eyes look both brighter and darker in the same moment. It was like magic, and he didn’t let himself linger on the science behind it for too long, certain it didn’t matter at all. With how closely he was being watched, likely with the same level of intensity as there was in his own gaze, nothing mattered besides taking in as much of it as he could.

          After a while -- it felt like hours, but it was likely no more than a few minutes -- he had to say something, before the air between them got any thicker with poorly veiled emotion. “You’re looking at me funny...” That was all he could manage, a short, not at all scientific observation, but he didn’t _need_  to say anything more than that.

          “I’m just thinking.” They were both quiet for a moment, holding each other’s gaze even when Grant spoke again. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

          Letting out a scoff, Leo shook his head with a soft smile. “Okay, _Taylor Swift_.” He gave a roll of his eyes before falling quiet for a long moment. It was just five words, one of the simplest sentences in the world, but there was so much weight to them, and there was no telling what kind of change that would bring about after all they’d changed in their relationship already. Still, he meant them, and that was all the motivation he needed. “Grant?” He was patient, waiting for the answering hum before speaking again. “You’re my best friend, too.”


End file.
